"Christ, you’re stupid." Spike says, drawing in close.
Xander rolls his eyes. ”Oh, yeah, like you made it obvious? Still all mooney-eyed over Buffy—?”
"Xander, honestly." Spike cuts him off, a hand curving around the back of his neck. "Shut up."
"Yeah," he breathes and their lips just barely brush. He doesn’t even have a chance to feel self-conscious about his eye, or lack-there-of. "Yeah, okay."
It’s lingering, sweet, gentle. Nothing like either of them really expected, but everything that both of them wanted, needed. Xander grips at Spike’s shirt, and Spike holds him close. It lasts until the more human of the two needs to breathe again.